


I'll Quit Tomorrow

by Mishiman



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Safe Room Sex, Smoking, Tentacles, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishiman/pseuds/Mishiman
Summary: Older but not wiser. Akira and the other Thieves have found successful careers and happy love lives. Now it's just Futaba and Ryuji.AU in which the Metaverse stuck around.





	I'll Quit Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, happy birthday Ryuji, enjoy the sad tentacle feels you lucky duck

Ryuji leaned his ass against the floor to ceiling fish tank, digging out his smokes with one hand and leaning his metal pipe against the wall beside him with the other. "Mm?" He offered her the pack.

  
Futaba shook her head. "I'm quitting." He knew she was, too. Asshole.

  
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta offer, though. 'm your senpai, remember?" A chk, chk sound from his lighter. His face caught the sharp orange light in the blue green gloom of the hall, lined with gargantuan tanks on either side.

  
This again. "You haven't been my senpai in _years,_ idiot."

  
He just shrugged, his cigarette hanging from his lips until he'd gotten his stuff stowed away in his waist pockets again.

  
She knew why, though. His last year at Shujin, and her first, had been the only time he'd ever gotten to be a senpai in any real way. He'd liked it. Nowadays he blew up and quit his jobs too frequently to ever gain any seniority. He was always on the bottom rung.

  
She squatted on the linoleum next to him, knees to her chest with her hands linked loosely around her ankles, and looked at the fish through her glasses, her Oracle headset pushed high up her forehead.

  
This whole Palace was just a giant aquarium. After the two of them had spent days and days wracking their brains over the keywords for the Nav, she'd rigged up a program to brute-force it, and they'd finally unlocked it: the guy's name, the location of his precinct, and 'aquarium'. Not anything you'd call smart. Still. They'd stuck out their chests and crowed about it that whole night. Hit the bar to celebrate and everything. Akira? Who needed him.

  
The aquarium part had come as a surprise, though. Their target was a corrupt cop, one who abused the staff below him, too, and from listening to the Shadows drone on, the fish theme had to do with his twisted worldview, as you'd expect. Something about being a shark, eating the smaller fishes.

  
Whatever. It was sort of pretty. Nicer to spend your time in a place like this than some of the other Palaces had been.

  
She tipped her head back and watched the smoke light up blue and coil up at the ceiling.

  
God, she wanted one so bad.

  
\----------

"Y' think this fucker's still harassin' his coworkers? His underlings?" Ryuji shook strings of black Shadow ichor from the end of his pipe, admiring the way it decorated the side of the tank. The dreamy blue light from inside it slatted out around the splatter, making interesting shadows on the far wall.

  
"Queen said she'd heard he was, remember?" But it was just for show. They both knew it. The conversation they'd had with Makoto, the one where she'd given them ten minutes of lecture and a minute and a half of intel, had taken place weeks ago, and they'd already talked it all out to death.

  
Back when the Thieves had been together, back when Ryuji had been in high school and Futaba was still pretending she wanted to leave her room, they would all research their targets obsessively. It was all they thought about. All they talked about. Now that it was just the two of them, they halfassed it.

  
They had to keep up the plot, though. The plot of their little drama in the Metaverse.

  
So they pretended to care. We'll take this scumbag down. We'll make him pay for what he did. But none of it even came close to mattering. There were other scumbags. Other Palaces. This guy was just an excuse to forget their shitty day to days and come out to play for a while.

  
Futaba helped Ryuji hold his arm in place as he popped it back in. The wet gristly sound didn't even make her wince anymore.

  
"You haven't been doing your physio, dumbass."

  
"I keep tellin' you, that shit don't work. For this, anyway." She knew the real reason. His physical therapist kept telling him to knock off whatever activity made his shoulder dislocate, and he wouldn't. Him and that stupid pipe of his.

  
His injuries healed every time they left the Metaverse, but only to a point. Cuts and scrapes and broken bones, sure, and the swelling from the dislocation, too, but now his shoulder slid back out of joint almost every visit.

  
"Then just - just use your _shotgun._ Use your lightning," she snapped.

  
He waved her off like he always did. They were getting to be like an old married couple.

  
They weren't _really,_ though. A couple. People maybe thought that, or would have, if they'd told anyone. They each had their own apartments, twenty minutes apart by train, but it was her couch that Ryuji sprawled on more nights than not. He couldn't hack it on his own for too long, but it was easier to avoid the conversation than admit that he might as well just live with her formally.

  
She liked her space, and that's why she always sent him back to the couch, after, instead of letting him sleep in her bed. So they'd cohabitate, or whatever you called it when one person hung around, and hung around, and hung around, until the other person finally snapped and sent them packing. But it was a cycle, and they both knew it. She'd start in on him over petty little grievances and things would ratchet up until they were both shouting. She'd dig in, and he'd dig in, too, as good as he got, and they'd both get hurt. They could never fight how you were supposed to. It always hurt, long after he collected his junk and slunk back to his own apartment.

  
You could set a watch to him though. It was usually four days. Four days and he'd get sick of the quiet at his own place after he was done his shifts. Four days and he'd wind up back at her door, takeout and beer in hand like nothing had happened. No apologies, but that was how she wanted it. If he apologized, she'd have to do it back.

  
She knew him, and he knew her. When the fight came around again, the same old fight, she always framed it as being fed up with him. His food in her fridge, even though there was room for both his food and hers. Using her second laptop without her express permission every time, even though she'd given him the password herself, months ago. The way he just sauntered into her room when she wasn't there to gather up her dirty clothes, washing them with his without asking.

  
It wasn't that, though. It wasn't even _him._ Not really. It was the same thing that kept her in her dark cave of a room before the Thieves picked up her pieces.

  
In her own head, she justified it as needing space. Needing quiet, as if him just being there every night, breathing deep and slow on her couch, was keeping her awake. Needing time to think, as if she really craved that feeling of her own thoughts needling her into a corner.

  
So she'd start to get bad again, all on her own, despite his best efforts, and they'd fight, the same stupid performance, and he'd go, and then there'd be nothing to keep her out of her head. She'd try to bury herself in her freelance work, but it usually wasn't interesting enough to do any good.

  
At least when Ryuji was there, he'd save her some food every time he cooked, using her kitchen, and he'd make sure she ate it, too. Nag nag nag. If he was all sweaty and gross from a run, he'd strip down to nothing right in her living room like he'd never heard the word decency. Then he'd come fetch her out of her room, wiping his nasty sweat on her bare arms and legs if he had to to get her to give in, and he'd make her shower with him. He wasn't mean about it, and it was one more thing they didn't talk about, one more for the pile, but he knew she'd go for days without, sometimes, so he made her.

  
It wasn't him. It was just that him being there reminded her that she couldn't hack it on her own, either.

  
She'd zoned out during their little breather between safe rooms, in an alcove next to a starfish petting tank or some stupid thing, but now he'd said something. "Huh?"

  
"Joker. Don't you think he'd laugh at us?" He had that fond smile.

  
Oh. It was going to be one of those days.

  
She was sick of this. Akira'd _left._ His parents had yanked him back home for his final year of high school but even after that, he'd stayed away. Even as an adult, he'd left them on their own. He came back for visits, these ugly stretches of fake smiles and empty questions about things that didn't matter, and then he'd go. She wished he'd just stay away if he wasn't going to come back for good.

  
She thought of the promise list he'd begun with her. It was a promise to herself and to him that she'd make it past all these hurdles she'd set for herself, but it was also a promise from him to _her,_ too. It was him promising her that he'd help her see it through. That he'd be there for her. So much for that.

  
She still had it. They'd made it halfway through, and then he'd dropped her.

  
Ryuji didn't feel the same way as her, though. They'd squabbled over it time and time again until finally, through trial and error but never with actual words, they'd reached a truce. A deal. He didn't breathe a word about Akira outside the Metaverse unless he absolutely had to, now, but inside was fair game, and she just had to put up with it.

  
Fake smiles, empty questions. She eyed the square shape his pack of smokes made within his tight suit, clearly outlined in his zip pocket.

  
"Yeah. I bet he would," she said mechanically.

  
"Right? He'd bulldoze these fuckin' weaklings. He had, like, _fifty_ Personas. He could just - he could just - "

  
She tuned him out.

  
It made her grit her teeth. The two of them brute forced their way through Palaces just like they did through keywords, because without Makoto and Morgana and Akira, they had no other choice. She was the navigator, but without the brains of the team, brute force was all they had. If Ryuji and Captain Kidd couldn't hit it, shoot it or zap it, they didn't get past it.

  
Necronomicon saw through walls and weaknesses, but it couldn't help. Not in battle. She'd tried, once, and the singe of brain searing pain she'd gotten as her reward when Necronomicon's tentacles were severed by a Shadow made sure that was the only time she'd tried. She'd told herself she was being her usual weak self, whining about what the other Thieves had all just soldiered on through, but the way her vision had stayed dark in one eye for the next day, inside _and_ outside the Palace, had changed her mind.

  
Necronomicon just wasn't meant for battle, and even setting her Persona aside, her own arms and legs looked like sticks next to Ryuji's. Back when they'd first started this, she'd mused aloud about weapons, wondering which might suit her now that they needed more firepower than ever - maybe a rapier, something more about speed than strength, or maybe she'd just stick to guns and only guns - but he'd shut her down in a hurry. It was the most serious she'd seen him in a long, long time, the jokey facade set aside, and he'd forbidden it. Her hackles had gone up, of course, and she'd gotten herself good and worked up about it, but it went differently than their usual fights at home did. No give and take. The answer was no, and that was it.

  
So yeah. Of course things'd be easier if they had Akira. It wasn't worth putting into words. But Ryuji did anyway. He _liked_ picturing Akira laughing at how hard they had it. He _liked_ reminiscing about the good old days, about how Akira used to floor it in the Monabus in Mementos or whatever memory came to mind that day, even as he held his arm in place. He talked like Akira was just taking a siesta in the nearest safe room. Like they'd be seeing him soon.

  
In a way, he would be.

  
She could just taste that cigarette.

  
\----------

  
Futaba begged him to call it quits, but he wouldn't. He always did this. One more. I got one more in me, at least, he'd say. It was just adrenaline, just brain chemicals, that kept him from falling over, and he should _know better._ That was what killed her. He was the runner. He was the one who should know what his limit was, out of anyone.

  
A good, sickening thud to the side of his head that she felt in her gut, even up in Necronomicon, decided it for her.

  
"Skull, get your ass moving. We are _going."_ She sent him the last of her buffs, all that she had in reserve, and it was just enough to get him out of there. The three Shadows, two hulking things they hadn't seen yet and a smaller, girlish one that they had, were left in the dust. Ryuji was still fast, even with his old leg injury, a more recent shoulder dislocation and a brand new divot in his scalp, bleeding like a hydrant and turning his hair red.

  
"Y-you always - " she stuttered over their comm, furious enough to lose her words.

  
He was laughing as he ran, disjointed little syllables between breaths as he took the corners at a good speed on the way back to the closest safe room. She couldn't tell if he was laughing at her or if he just liked having an excuse to go all out like old times.

  
She laid into him as she closed the door behind her, Necronomicon melting back into her consciousness until the next time she needed it. "What if those things had taken your head off, huh?"

  
"Too fast for those dipshits!" Like that answered what she'd asked in any way. He hefted himself up, favouring one arm, and parked his ass on the table in the centre of the safe room. They both looked around as he got his breath back. The Palace being an aquarium meant the safe rooms looked like gift shop slash cafes for the aquarium guests, each of them filled with fake sea creature merch and plush seating as well as more tanks with all kinds of things inside. Flitty, silvery fish and spiney creatures.

  
The fact that Ryuji had chosen to be upright on the table in the middle instead of flopping down onto the squishy banquettes along the walls meant that he was asking her for some medical attention without having to admit, in words, that he needed it.

  
She knew how it was going to go after, too. Ryuji was asking for more than just medical attention.

  
She was still pissed at him, though. Possibly enough to make him have to ask for it, today. All she'd have to do was play dumb.

  
But she could deal with the more immediate problem, at least. She blinked the angry tears out of her eyes and got up close to him, wedging her headset on top of her head again and putting her glasses on. He took his skull mask off too.

  
"Whaddya think, Oracle? Bandaid typa deal?"

  
Her stomach turned. She could see wet bone. "Rrrgh, you _know_ it isn't - "

  
That same crooked, idiot grin that he'd always had. Like he didn't have hot blood, black in the low light, streaming from his scalp and dripping from his earlobe down into the open collar of his plasticky suit. Although the grin looked a little tight around the edges. "Good stuff, then."

  
They were almost out of the good stuff. He knew that, too.

  
She got the bottle out of the zippered pack on her hip and shook it mournfully. Just a couple lonely pills left. And this close up, with both their masks off, she caught just a second of how he really was. Just a second of the pain he must be feeling, and maybe a little of something else. He covered it up just as quick, scratching his head on the uninjured side with his gloved hand and putting the grin back on, but she'd seen it. If she'd had a doubt in her mind, a quick glance down at the front of his suit just confirmed it.

  
Ugh. She knew how today was going to go. She knew herself that well, at least. She wasn't going to make him ask.

  
She got the pills out, the last they had, and slapped them into his hand, like some kind of crazy Tron nurse - a hacker nurse - and he crunched them up between his teeth like a junkie.

  
The Metaverse was funny. It only took on the shape of the real world, and it left a lot of things up to you, or maybe up to chance. So, for all the sense it made, the pills worked immediately, before he'd even grimaced down all the crumbly bits, and she knew that they not only took care of most of the pain but stopped the bleeding, too. He still looked like he'd just been in a car crash, but his face started to smooth out.

  
He leaned back on his hands and spread his knees, up there on the table, then looked at her expectantly.

  
His stupid plasticky suit. Weird and fetishy and impractical, only a little better than Ann's had been. Ann's had been lipstick red and tight as hell, and most of them had looked. You had to. It was like it was screaming at you to look. But Ryuji's wasn't much better, even though it was black and a little looser. The material was maybe a little thicker than Ann's suit had been, too, and a little less reflective, but it still didn't hide much, especially after he'd gotten going. Half an hour of moving around and it'd be bunched up around his hips, tight tight tight, just like how Yusuke's had been. Honestly, their suits had all been tight and ridiculous in their own ways, except for Akira's. He'd looked cool, and he'd gotten to have pants made of fabric with enough give to move around in without embarrassing himself. Lucky him.

  
Ryuji looked down at her, and she looked up at him.

  
There was no asking with her and Ryuji. They must've talked more at some point, or none of this weird thing would have gotten started, but she couldn't remember it. After the other Thieves had fallen away, sucked into their own careers and lives apart from them, it felt like it'd always just been this.

  
Without looking at it, Futaba picked up a souvenir necklace, a tiny fossilized shark tooth, from a rack and stood between his legs.

  
With him way up on the table like that, he towered over her. Her head only reached the centre of his chest, like this, and he knew what being so close was doing to her. He worked his yellow gloves off and took her long, straight hair in both hands, letting it fall through his fingers.

  
He didn't have to. He didn't have to... _entice_ her, or whatever it was he thought he was doing. She got to work so they could get this over with and get out of here.

  
Say what you would about Ann's weird fetishy suit, but at least it had zippers. Ryuji's zipper went from his collar to the top of his chest and no further. His suit had him sealed tight.

  
Futaba took the little shark tooth and pressed the point of it to his lap until it poked through like a needle. He didn't even jump anymore, or warn her to be careful around his precious junk. She tossed the tooth aside and they freed him together, tearing the tiny hole larger and larger until he was revealed. She kept going, too, struggling against the material until the muscles in her arms shook with the strain of it, and only quit when the hole was a lot bigger than they strictly needed.

  
He made a frustrated noise when he realized what she was doing. "That shit again?"

  
She narrowed her eyes in challenge. He shut up.

  
It wasn't just medical attention. There was another reason he'd gotten up on the table like this. His cock was out and staring at her now, not so far from her mouth, and she took him in, barely even having to bend down. He knew her mouth was too small to keep at it for long before her jaw started to ache, so he never asked for it, and he never complained when she had to cut it short every time. But she knew he liked it. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to know. He tasted like his precum and not a little like his suit. Plasticky, but that was okay. The sounds he made always got her going. He groaned, shockingly loud in the dead silent safe room, and his breathing picked up. She hummed around the head of his cock, satisfied, as she felt familiar warmth uncoil in her lower abdomen.

  
Her eyes went wide behind her glasses as he leaned forward to grab her sides. "I'm good, I'm good - just - " he muttered, and hauled her straight up, injured shoulder be damned. Those prescription pills were basically magic in here. He fell back onto the hard table with a thud, letting his back and her kneepads take the impact, and she scrambled to avoid just outright sitting on his cock while still fully clothed. It would've hurt if she'd bent it, she was sure of it. But he didn't give a shit when he got like this. He didn't stop to think about pain or talking or anything else, like this, and she felt a little twinge of something like love for him.

  
Not really love. Care, maybe. She cared for him. He cared for her, too, in a different way, a way she couldn't return, and she was starting to wonder if it was a him thing or a her thing; if she'd ever be able to care for anyone in the way he cared for her. But she had a way to get him back.

  
God, how she wanted that cigarette, though.

  
He looked lost. Already seeing someone else. Their eyes met, and they both looked away in a hurry. A few seconds later, he just closed his eyes altogether.

  
He lay there, splayed flat on his back on a cafe style table, just big enough for the both of them if she sat upright next to him and they both let their feet hang off the edge. The reflections from the water in the tanks surrounding them played over his face in wavy blue tortoiseshell patterns, bringing his features to life when she knew they were perfectly still.

  
She called Necronomicon.

  
She'd gotten pretty good at controlling it by now. Necronomicon's tentacles were capable of just as much delicacy as her fingers, maybe more, and she could do it with her eyes closed at this point. Not that she did.

  
Ryuji heard them, or maybe felt them as they started to climb up the legs of the table, and spread his knees a little. But he had to keep up appearances.

  
"It can't just be you, huh? You always - you always gotta bring control into it, or whatever," he said, his eyes still closed. He sounded mad, or like he was trying to sound mad, maybe. He left his thighs apart.

  
It hadn't been all that long since their last big blowout, so she bit back everything she wanted to say. All the defensive, petty, hateful shit that always seemed to make it out eventually. But today she was able to keep it in, biting her tongue as she worked the two layers of her gloves off.

  
She knelt next to his head and rested one bare hand on his chest and the other in his hair, carefully avoiding where the blood was drying. His face went slack again.

  
Outside, when they were in her bed, or on the couch, or in the shower, he saw her. She knew he did. He called her by name, and she could tell by his eyes. He only got like this in here, where everything in the Metaverse reminded him of how things had been.

  
She knew how he liked it, in here, and she put how she felt for him into it. For all the times he put his head down and bulled through, surrounded by Shadows, alone, while she watched up above, protected. For all the times she got locked in her head and pushed him away, and for all the times he came back.

  
She petted his hair with her hand and petted his leg with the tentacles.

  
He liked to keep his eyes closed, because it helped, and she knew from experience that he didn't like to be surprised when he was like this. So she went slow and stayed gentle. She wound them slowly up his boot, then up his calf, then up and over his kneepad and onwards up his thigh. Necronomicon's tentacles were even slicker than the plasticky stuff Ryuji's suit was made of, and you'd think that'd help, but the opposite was true; they always tried to stick together instead. So Futaba adjusted a setting, a phantom dial in her head, and the tentacles began to secrete a clear, silky smooth substance.

  
She was glad she'd ripped such a large opening in his suit, now. She didn't even have to move its tatters aside and risk disturbing him. The tentacles brushed him there, just lightly, and he angled his hips to make it easier for them.

  
Little pants from him, now, barely audible huffs from between his parted lips. She kissed him, and he groaned into her mouth immediately. He'd never been able to keep quiet. She was almost fully sideways to him, making for an awkward angle, but when she tried to change position he hooked his arm around her back and trapped her there. It wasn't kissing anymore, it was just teeth and force and pressure, but he wanted her mouth there, so she stayed.

  
He shivered as the slender tip of the first tentacle tickled him, tentative and careful, then slicked inside.

  
She thought his cock looked cold and lonely, so she sent it some company, too. She knew from her own experience, up close and personal, that the tentacles and the substance they coated themselves with were perfectly body temperature. Nice and comfortable. She wrapped him up in several inches of another tentacle, just as slippery as the one inside him, and began to wind its coils up and down his length. He sighed into her mouth.

  
If they were in her apartment, stretched out on her small bed, she'd have liked to start talking to him right about now. She always thought of it as encouragement. But she knew he didn't like to hear her voice when he was like this, so she kept silent.

  
It took some effort, but she disentangled herself from his arm and hopped down from the table.

  
Necronomicon was pretty great for this, actually. It almost made up for its lack of attack abilities. You could manually control each of its tentacles, their thickness and lubrication and speed, or you could just set it to continue and it would without further input - a perfect mix between organic systems and automation. She left Ryuji on the table, his hips chasing the thin tentacle working inside him, and undressed.

  
Her top wasn't so different from his suit, plasticky and tight, but it was far more sensible. She simply put aside her headset, hauled her top over her head and rolled down her fabric knee highs, then kicked off her boots and unzipped her pants.

  
Ryuji'd turned his face toward her, his eyes still closed but begging for her help with his expression. A line between his eyebrows, his mouth just barely open as he gasped in time.

  
She clambered back up on the chilly table, naked and bluish in the light from the tanks, and stilled the tentacles.

  
He whined, then wriggled in place, trying to get what he could out of the one still wrapped around his cock, but she moved it a little lower and a lot tighter until it was circling the base of his cock in a vice grip. Then she gently removed the one still inside him altogether. She took her first two fingers and slid them inside herself, shoving them in and out with much more force than she'd just used on him, until she knew she was ready. It never took that much, at this point.

  
He could hear what she was doing next to his head, slk slk slk, and it made him much more patient. He just lay there, waiting: him almost fully dressed and blue black in the low light, her fully naked and bluish white. She straddled him and guided him inside, drawing in a ragged breath as he stretched her wide.

  
"Fuck... " he whispered, his eyes still closed but his eyebrows as high as they would go. He reflexively put his hands on her thighs, then took them off again in a hurry. She knew her legs didn't feel like what he was imagining. For that matter, she knew her insides didn't feel like what he was imagining, either, but that part had never seemed to bother him as much.

  
She couldn't ask him if he was ready, so she settled for going slow. She cranked up the controls - increased girth, more slippery goop - and gave him what he wanted.

  
She could never tell if this part was real or if she just had an overactive imagination, but she sometimes thought she could feel what the tentacles felt. Him inside her and her inside him, simultaneously. It could have just been more of their game of pretend, this part for her instead of for him, but she thought she could just barely feel the tip of the tentacle, this time blunt and round and a couple inches across, push inside him. It nosed up and over and past until it was well inside, behaving more like a couple of fingers stretching him than anything else, and then she changed its shape to something straight and rigid, though still with a little give. He had lifted his head as she worked it inside, the cords on his neck standing out, but now he threw it back against the table and let out all his breath in a shaky moan.

  
He felt so warm inside.

  
His noises always got her going. She realized she'd been riding his cock in the smallest increments, her hips moving herself up and down in maddeningly short thrusts, and made herself stop with a real pang of regret.

  
She wanted to fall forward onto his chest, too, both to be close to him and to improve the angle, but it wasn't time yet. So she put all her focus on the fat tentacle inside him and gave it to him the way he liked it.

  
Short, fast thrusts, just shallow at first until she could tell from his face that she'd found the right spot. He went loud, changing his breathing to match the strokes and groaning in time, and she had to press her lips together to stay silent as his cock throbbed inside her.

  
"Ah... ah... " he said, but that wasn't right. It wasn't just an 'ah' sound. It was an 'ah' sound followed by half a click, a suggestion of a click, that changed it from just a sound to part of a name. All that he'd allow himself, even these days, when the guy in question had long since put away his mask and dagger. You didn't use real names in the Metaverse, but he did allow himself this.

  
So Futaba put how she felt for him into what she was doing, even if her feelings fell short. Even if she wasn't the one he was thinking of right now. She kept herself quiet, and she didn't let herself touch him, either, as she changed the stroke to something deeper and harder. Then she uncoiled the thin, strong tentacle that had kept his cock in its grip all this time and positioned it between her legs instead, turning it extra goopy and leaving it where she knew she'd be grinding her clit against it.

  
Now she rode him. It didn't line up with what he imagined, it couldn't have, but he never cared at this point. He kept his eyes closed tight, and he kept reaching out for her, too, reaching out and stopping himself each time until he finally raised his arms and locked his hands away behind his head. She rode him, hard, driving him deep inside her, and she kept up what the tentacle was doing, too, feeding it to him just as hard and fast until it was practically snapping in place between his legs. He was nearly sobbing under the dual assault, just taking it with that look of anguish on his face that wasn't real anguish at all, and she knew he was close.

  
She couldn't help it. She'd made it too good for herself. She came, and despite all her efforts to keep quiet she made a noise while she did, a shrill gasp that went on and on until her lungs were about to burst. She quivered violently on top of him and around him, too, and maybe it made the tentacle inside him do the same, because he was coming now too. It was the only thing he stayed silent for. He filled her, and she watched eagerly, his face her real reward. It went on and on, and she felt a little proud.

  
When he opened his eyes, he was still far away. He saw her face and looked disappointed, and hid it just as quick, like he always did. He finally freed his own hands from behind his head and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her down to kiss her.

  
These weren't the desperate kisses from before. This was him being nice. They were his apology, just like the takeout and beer were after they fought.

  
She lifted herself off of him and used one of her fabric knee highs to wipe herself clean as best she could, then handed it to him as she got dressed so he could do the same.

  
"No condom, huh?" he observed.

  
It was more pretend. It was easy to justify protection when they were in her bed, but harder in the Metaverse. For one thing, a condom in your pocket in the real world just didn't transfer here, in the same way your keys and wallet and other pocket detritus stayed outside, waiting for you to return. Bandaids and weapons and phones got to come in, but the Metaverse left everything else outside, and there was just no way around it.

  
So they'd never used them in here, not once. A little thing like being safe had never stopped them from doing anything else in here, so why would this be any different? Before, when they'd talked more, when talking was easier, they'd wondered about it. Maybe you couldn't even _get_ pregnant in here. Maybe the Metaverse rules wouldn't allow it.

  
It didn't matter. She couldn't picture herself nine months down the line anyway.

  
She gave his question the respect it deserved. "Oh, darn. I must have forgot," she said, dryly.

  
"Aw. S'okay." He bent low to kiss her again, him still out in the air and her still topless, and she knew he was just trying to make himself feel better.

  
\----------

  
This time, out in the cool blue green corridor, she took his pack of smokes and lighter from him and helped herself.

  
"Yeah, that sure looks like quittin' to me."

  
"Yup." She jetted smoke from her lips and handed the pack back.

  
"Knew you'd be back."

  
"Yup." She watched a behemoth go by in the tank a few feet away, a shark or a whale or a tuna. Whatever it was. She watched her smoke hang in the air, blue and silver, and let herself sink down into a squat again, wrapping her free arm around her ankles.

  
She left Necronomicon unformed, just the presence in her mind that it always was, but used it to map out the Palace behind her eyelids. They'd been at this one for five months, and they'd made it far enough inside to discover two safe rooms. Two. She couldn't see details of what they hadn't infiltrated, but the outline she _could_ see, the sheer black hulk of it, was enough. It was at least as big as the Palaces they'd taken on with the other Thieves, when they'd had half a dozen others to switch out and heal and support.

  
It was getting harder. She couldn't really picture them ever making it to the end.

  
She thought of the cop's faceless underlings, stuck in the same system that the volleyball team had been. The kids who Kaneshiro extorted, and the pupils who Madarame plagiarized from.

  
The cop's underlings were adults, though. They were just going to have to help themselves.

  
She smoked, pulling it deep into her lungs, and thought of her Persona. She had Necronomicon, and it wasn't like she didn't like it. It felt friendly and comfortable and familiar to her, and she knew Ryuji felt the same way about Captain Kidd. It wasn't like she was complaining. But she sometimes wondered if the fact that all the other Thieves had awoken a second Persona had something to do with the fact that all the other Thieves had gone on to great things. Their careers, their love lives. Even Morgana was doing well. They all sounded so happy, like they didn't have to pretend. If your Persona was a part of your self, then...

  
Ryuji joined her on the floor, shivering as his bare skin touched the lino, and put his arm around her back. He used his other hand to hold his cigarette, the tip of it a tiny bright spot in the thick blue murk. "We can always quit tomorrow."

  
"Yup."

**Author's Note:**

> I post Persona 5 fanart to Twitter and talk about fanfic a lot here: https://twitter.com/araforreal
> 
> Come yell with me about P5!


End file.
